


The Flood I Saw Just Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

by nottonyharrison



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Beth is still trapped in her marriage, Bisexual Rio, Choking, F/M, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, Multiple mentions and glossing over of various squicks including the following, Pegging, Post Season 3, Prompt Fic, Rimming, Rough Sex, There is a lot of to-ing and fro-ing in this, These two are an absolute mess and I live for it, cum-eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottonyharrison/pseuds/nottonyharrison
Summary: It's always the way with them, a weird pull that feels like a couple of magnets constantly spinning and occasionally forcing apart when the same poles were pointing in each other’s direction.So when they fight, and he texts her a week later offering to bring around a pizza and a bottle of bourbon, she says okay. Because she’s feeling like maybe today she’s a north and he’s a south.Written for the Good Girls Prompt-a-thon 2020.
Relationships: Beth Boland/OMC, Beth Boland/Rio, Mentions of Rio/OMC
Comments: 42
Kudos: 562
Collections: Good Girls Prompt-a-thon 2020





	The Flood I Saw Just Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE UPDATE: A few Good Girls authors have noticed large volumes of guest kudos on their works recently, and are curious as to where these are coming from. If you're here after following a link from somewhere else on the internet, please jump over to [tumblr](http://nottonyharrison.tumblr.com/ask) or leave a comment at the end of this story and let us know where you all are from!
> 
>  **Original prompt:** Beth x Rio. Beth pegging Rio. Making Rio beg for it. Starting gentle and then absolutely laying into him. Giving him a blowjob and rimming him until he cums.
> 
> I did mix this up a bit because rimming is a very _minor_ squick of mine (mostly reading and writing TBH the act itself doesn't bother me, not sure what's going on there), so whether that part of the prompt is fulfilled is probably a bit on the debatable side. Sadly, this was an anonymously submitted prompt so I don't have a name to gift this to, but whoever you are, I hope you like it!
> 
> A HUUUGE thank you to [neveroffanon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveroffanon/pseuds/neveroffanon) for the alpha/beta read, and to [lunafeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunafeather/pseuds/Lunafeather) for helping me work through a corner I wrote myself into. I couldn't have done this without you guys and I appreciate you so much (also they're both amazing writers so y'all should go check them out if you haven't already and leave some comments on their fic)

It doesn’t start in any kind of normal way. Beth is aware of that, it’s kind of an abstract idea sloshing around in her head, but she doesn’t have the time or the energy to sieve through the ocean and pick out the tiny grains of sand that might lead her to an answer.

And it takes months. Actually, it’s over a year before he’ll even really be in the same space as her without any reminder of what she did to him that night. It’s always about what  _ she _ did, not what he did, or what they did, or what Turner did, or anything other than what Beth did.

So when he finally acknowledges that maybe he made a bad choice - and to be clear that acknowledgement was barely an acknowledgement at all - it’s like something has cracked the barrier between them, and the water is trickling through until it starts soaking upward through their soles.

He smiles at her in the middle of a meeting one day, and the water is up to her ankles. His perfect teeth shark like and glinting in the dim lighting of another run down warehouse, and it’s as though the crack has widened, that the water is rushing through just fast enough to start creeping towards her knees, and suddenly she’s wading through thick mud, legs heavy and feet like cinder blocks.

He asks her why she froze later that night, after the other interested parties are long gone. They’re sitting at a cheap card table counting the cash, and she shrugs and says something about Emma being up all night with a sore stomach and not having a lot of sleep. He replies with a comment about Marcus having something the week before, and there’s that smile again, oddly warm and comforting, and suddenly the crack has become a gaping hole and she’s drowning.

It starts with a crack, and it ends in a void and a flood, and her chest is heavy with something. All she can see in her mind as she’s laying in bed is his face when she’d told him she lost the baby. His face when she’d told him she was out. His face when she’d tugged off her boots. His face when he walked into that bathroom, when she’d thrown the keys, when she’d told him she only had pumps. 

His face when she’d shot him the first time.

She insists on dealing with Mick for a while after that.

…

Dean’s still living in the house. He’s still sleeping in her bed. He’s still her husband and business partner, and he still doesn’t know what they’re doing. He believes her when she tells him she’s gone legit, and he continues to believe in her even though the mortgage payments are miraculously up to date, and they have money in their savings. The house is furnished again, with the chintzy sofas and the large floral prints and the decorative but completely impractical vases.

Sometimes Beth lets him fuck her, when she’s lonely or horny or sad. It’s always the same, unsatisfying and filled with regret and memories of something better. Memories of something dangerous and fleeting, like when you’re driving in the snow and you lose control for just a moment, and that rush of adrenaline surges through you. And just like driving in the snow, she’s left nervy and shaking afterwards. Dean thinks it’s him, that his sexual prowess has suddenly turned a corner and she’s so shattered that she can’t form a proper sentence. She lets him take it.

So it carries on like that. Beth fucking her husband once every few weeks. Beth hiding money and meeting fake spa buyers, and Mick and every now and then... Rio when she can’t avoid him any longer. And now there’s huge big strips of flex tape over that massive gaping hole in the barrier and she feels almost safe again. She understands the irony.

And it’s just when she can breathe, that she’s finally made it to the shallows and can see the shore, that Rio inserts himself back into her life again, blocking her path like a fishing net that stretches as far as the eye can see, just below the surface of the water so she trips over it, and she’s drowning again.

…

It’s Thanksgiving when it happens. Dean has taken the kids to his mom’s for the day, and Beth stays back for an extra few hours to make the most of being home alone, wrapping Christmas gifts early, and hiding them in the crawlspace that the real estate agent tried to sell as an attic.

When she comes down the ladder, he’s there. Standing in the hallway in that pose of his, hands clasped in front of him, somehow rigid and languid all at once, and the water is in her mouth. It’s filling her throat, and she can’t breathe. She coughs, and he tilts his head.

“We need to talk.”

She clears her throat and leans down to pull the ladder back up to the ceiling. “Right, because only good things ever come from you and I talking.”

He unclasps his hands and reaches out to help her push the ladder up. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

She looks up, eyes wide. “No… I just don’t see why we need to constantly be meeting, I mean… it’s suspicious.”

He steps back and raises an eyebrow. “Riiiight.”

Beth sets her mouth in a line, in what she hopes is a neutral expression, and heads off toward the kitchen. Not in a rush, but with a certain sense of urgency. Like she has somewhere she needs to be, but isn’t trying to get away from him specifically. “We talked about you breaking into my house.”

“Door was open.”

Beth picks up her purse and keys from the counter, and lets her mouth crack in a wry smile as she turns the cold metal in her fingers. “An unlocked door isn’t an invitation.”

There’s a sigh, and a shift in the mood. “You ever gonna give me one?”

She’s rifling through her purse now, looking for nothing and everything all at once. Her hand clasps around a tube of lipstick, and she pulls it out and pulls off the cap. “Give you a what?”

“An invitation.”

She twists up the lipstick and frowns at the deep red. She hasn’t used it in months, and there’s a hard rasp against her lips from the crust that’s formed, before the smooth makeup underneath finally smears across her skin. She doesn’t reply until she’s checked the application in the blank screen of her phone and recapped the tube, tossing it into the bag carelessly. Her mind goes through a thousand responses, everything from  _ fuck off  _ to  _ fuck me _ , and lands on something of a middle ground. “An invitation to come into my house?”

“Don’ be obtuse.” She would swear his voice cracks. She hooks the purse strap over her shoulder and turns around.

Beth kind of knows somewhere in the back of her mind that this conflict constantly present between them is irrational and stupid, that the crack in that barrier is just a sliver of proper communication... a hint of words coming from mouths that aren’t filled with barbs coated in a poison veneer. The way he’s looking at her in that moment is without the distortion of the glass, and she feels like she’s being tossed backwards by a flood of emotions.

He looks vulnerable. For the first time in the two and whatever years she’s known him, he looks like a person rather than a character.

Or maybe not for the first time. Maybe she’s lying to herself. Maybe she’d turned away from him that afternoon in her bedroom, but had seen the downcast look and fidgeting, anxious hands from the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Maybe she’d closed the door with a little more force to punctuate the end of that period in her life. Maybe her chest had hurt a tiny bit. Maybe she’d cried in the shower. Maybe she doesn’t want to remember. Maybe she does remember when she’s in that weird space between sleep and wakefulness.

“I think our dynamic has shifted in the other direction, don’t you?” She asks. Rio sighs and rubs his hand against his forehead. Beth adjusts her bag and picks her phone up. “Well… I gotta go.”

“Where you off to?”

“It’s Thanksgiving.” She screws up her face. “Dean’s mom is…”

He gestures broadly, arms wide. “You not usin’ it as an excuse to show off all this?”

She shoves the phone in her pocket and pushes her hair back in annoyance. “Look, do you want something, or are you just here to be an asshole?”

Rio looks up at the ceiling and presses his lips together, before letting out a heavy sigh and striding towards the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle, before turning back to her, expression guarded. “You know you’re stupid if you think it’s not always open.”

“I know how to lock a fucking door.”

He shakes his head and runs his eyes up her body, starting at her feet until his gaze is firmly on hers and it’s like she’s being pulled below the surface again. “I ain’t talkin’ about your locks.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and she’s stuck to the spot as he slides outside and closes the door behind him.

And it’s a few seconds until she bursts back above the surface, gasping and shaking and her mind suddenly sharp from the adrenaline rushing through her body.

She yanks the door open. “ _ Wait. _ ”

He’s halfway through the motion of ducking into his car, and stands back up, hands flat on the roof and head bowed and lips parted in that way he has where his lower lip juts out and his jaw flexes. She sets her shoulders in a determined line, and strides towards him.

His mouth is still open when she grabs his shoulder, pulls him around, and slams her lips into his. He lets out a surprised  _ mmph _ , and then he’s kissing her back like he means it. Like if he presses hard enough, and grips her hair tight enough, then she might forget all the resentment and the pain and the murder.

Then she pulls back, his eyes flutter open, and it’s like everything just washes away. The barrier is gone, the surge has settled, subsided, and there’s a hint of a glimmer on the slack water. All that’s left is two people who might finally have lost some of the armour they’ve been shielding themselves with for all this time.

He kisses her again, softly, her lower lip sucked between his, and when she pulls away and disentangles herself, she looks away shyly and takes in a sharp breath. “I… yeah I really have to go.”

She’s halfway to her car when his voice rings out across the driveway.

“I’ll lock the door for you, yeah?”

She doesn’t turn back, instead flipping him off over her shoulder. As she peels out of her driveway, he’s jogging up her front steps.

…

Dinner goes fine until Dean offers to do the dishes. He’s been a little clipped all afternoon, but not enough to raise any red flags, and Beth doesn’t think anything of it until he looks at her pointedly and volunteers them both to clean up. Not that she wasn’t going to do it anyway, so it irks her that he makes such a big deal out of it.

She’s filling the sink, suds puffing up above the rim, when he says it.

“I thought it was over between you two.”

She stills for a moment, before swiping at the white peaks and turning off the faucet. “What are you talking about?”

He shoves his phone in her face, and there’s an image right there, clear and sharp. Her heart picks up at the sight of them, Rio with his hands tangled in her hair, her with her fingers digging into his neck… she hadn’t even realised she’d been doing that. “Mrs Kowalski?”

The screen disappears and is replaced in her line of sight by the sink once more. Dean sighs. “Mrs Kowalksi.”

“Listen… can we not do this now?” There’s a creak from behind her, she guesses he’s taken a seat at the breakfast bar. She picks up a glass and dunks it in the water.

“No, I think we need to do this now.”

“It’s Thanksgiving.” The words echo in her head, and she casts her mind back to a few hours earlier.

“Do you want a divorce? Is that it? Are you flaunting him in front of the whole neighbourhood so I leave you?”

“It’s not… that’s not what happened.”

“Then what  _ did _ happen, Beth? Did he show up at the house trying to get you back, and you just  _ fell into his arms?  _ Like… I don’t get it. Is this  _ romantic _ for you? Is it a  _ game? _ ”

“I’m not anyone’s property to  _ get _ , Dean.”

“You know that's not what I meant.”

She tosses the fork she’s holding into the sink, and a large splash of water rises up and hits her on the chin. She swipes at the wet spot as she spins around, eyes blazing. “Then what  _ did _ you mean?”

He sits there, mouth hanging open and eyes wide for a few moments. “You’re my wife.”

She lets out a dry, wry laugh and looks down at her hands. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m your wife.”

“Do we need to… I don’t know, do you need to… not be my wife any more?”

She starts pushing at her cuticles and sighs. “Yeah that’s not going to happen.”

“I um… look we can work something out with the kids and the store. I can buy you out and--”

“You really don’t want to do that.” Dean wrinkles his brow in confusion. “I mean… we really don’t need accountants and lawyers poking around in the store’s books.”

The penny drops. Dean’s eyes go wide and his mouth clams shut in a hard, angry line. There’s a long pause, and Beth cringes. “Are you  _ kidding _ me right now?”

“Come on. You had to know where the money was coming from. You said it yourself, nobody would loan either of us anything with our history.” She runs a damp hand through her bangs. “You believed me because you didn’t want to know.”

“I believed you because I  _ trusted _ you.”

“Oh you and I both know that’s bullshit.”

There’s a scream from the living room, and Emma comes running into the kitchen. “Mommy, mommy! Danny tipped his drink on Jane’s dubby and now she’s hiding under the table.”

Beth lets her hand fall to her side, and picks up the dishcloth, tossing it on the island and pointing at it. “I’ll go deal with that, you do the dishes.”

She can feel his eyes following her every step of the way, but she doesn’t look back.

...

They set the study up as a bedroom for Dean. They talk about renting an apartment like before, or building a cabin in the backyard, but in the end they need a fast solution and the study is right there.

The kids don’t seem to care, almost used to the constant undercurrent of tension and resentment between them. It’s just another day they get pizza for dinner.

And the irony of it all is that she barely sees Rio unless it’s work related, and even then he’s  _ almost  _ strictly professional. Never overstepping by pushing her hair out of her face, or laying a hand on her shoulder, or leaning over her to look at what she’s working on.

He oversteps verbally every time, though. One night it’s asking why she’s so tense, and then making a jab at her sex life. The next time he asks if Dean has fucked her in one of the hot tubs yet. The last time, he slides his hand down the office door frame as he’s leaving pausing for a moment.

She looks up from the ledger in front of her, and he runs his tongue between his teeth.

“You should take a day off, you’re working too hard.”

She twists her lips in a tight smile, and shakes her head. “That’s not how this works, right?”

“I said, you should take a day off.”

“Well uh… Maybe I could be sick tomorrow.”

“Yeah, maybe you could.” He licks his lips and nods his head, then turns and disappears into the dark showroom.

...

It’s the first time he’s been in her house since  _ the incident _ as she’s started referring to it, and they don’t talk. It’s ten in the morning. She’s just finished cleaning the ensuite when he comes in through the french doors, and pins her to the dresser.

It’s just a lot of heavy breathing, and whimpers, and at one point he lets out this  _ sound _ that runs right through her and pulls at somewhere deep in her chest. Beth’s wearing ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt covered in bleach stains. Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she’s feeling about as unsexy as she ever has, but he doesn’t seem to care. So when she’s leaning over the foot of the bed, pants pulled down to her knees and his hips slamming into hers, she flails her hand behind her until she catches his wrist and guides his hand to her head. He gets the hint, and she comes as he’s pressing her face hard into the mattress.

It keeps happening like that, often rough and quick, sometimes slow and intense in a way that makes a feeling bubble up in Beth’s chest that she isn’t sure she’s ready to deal with. She learns he likes it when she grabs his skin hard enough to form a bruise, and when her hand presses against his trachea firmly to the point his breath comes in short pants. She learns that he enjoys his ass being licked, and his balls being squeezed until he’s moaning into the pillow and streaks of white paint his belly.

He learns that she enjoys it when he fucks her mouth. That she loves it when he comes on her ass or her tits and then licks it off. That she’ll sit on his face after he’s let himself go inside her until he’s licked her clean and she’s shivering above him while her hand presses against his forehead.

The first time he sleeps over is not one of those times. He’d turned up after midnight, covered in dirt and soaked to the skin, and she’d forced him into the shower and put his clothes in the washer. He hadn’t even tried to fuck her that night, just fallen asleep moments after his head hit the pillow, curled into her, mouth open against her shoulder.

The next morning he wakes her up with his dick between her ass cheeks, and his lips on her neck, and she lets him roll his body into her, gentle and sleepy, and the warmth that washes over her is that special kind of familiar that makes you feel content.

…

It’s not that they avoid talking about it, it’s just not something that ever comes up in casual conversation. It’s normal. The only real difference is that the barrier is gone, and they’re able to wash in and out of one another's lives like any other associates. Sometimes Beth wonders if they’re maybe even friends.

Annie is the first one to notice, not from any kind of perception, but sheer dumb luck. Or perhaps stupidity on Beth’s part, because they had planned the school run arrangements the week before.

And it’s not like Beth can talk her way out of it, because Annie’s standing right there unseen in the kitchen as Beth sneaks Rio through the hallway to the front door, and kisses him goodbye before he slips out. If she’s honest with herself, it’s not really a kiss. It’s more pornographic than that, and she grunts and drops her forehead against the door as she closes it behind him.

The mug shattering on the floor makes her jump, and she turns slowly to see Annie staring at her, completely still and mouth open in a silent and judgemental  _ O _ .

“For  _ fuck’s  _ sake, Beth what the hell?”

“I um… it’s not what it looks like I swear.”

Annie leans down to pick up the shards of the mug. “Trust me, that is exactly what it looks like.”

“It’s nothing serious we’re just both… scratching an itch.”

“You let everyone you scratch an itch with sleep over, and then kiss you like… _ that _ the next morning?”

“That’s not what that was.” She gestures broadly with her hands, and slaps them down against her thighs

Annie looks up from the floor and cocks her head. “Whatever.” she tosses the mess in the trash and starts mopping up the spilled liquid with a sponge. “Go ahead, get involved with your murderous silent partner, we all know how well that turned out the last time.”

Beth opens and closes her mouth a few times before finding words. “We’re over that.”

Annie goes to the sink and starts wringing out the sponge. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”

“You don’t get it, that’s not what… we worked it out and it’s fine now.”

“Did you  _ really _ ? Did you really work it out, or did you just not talk about it until it went away?” She swipes up the last of the mess and throws the sponge in the trash. “And you’re right, I don’t get it. I’ll probably never get it.”

“Well that’s fine, because it’s none of your business anyway.”

“It is my business when I have to  _ work with you _ .” Annie’s eyebrows are screwed up so tight that they’re almost meeting in the middle. “Does Ruby know?”

“No.”

“Dean?”

Beth pauses before nodding.

“How long?”

Beth looks like a fish for a few moments again. “Like… Thanksgiving.”

“ _ Thanksgiving? _ So before Dean moved into the study?”

“Yeah.. well.. I--”

“You know what, I’m going to go get the kids up, go do your inventory.” Annie sighs and strides towards the stairs. “I  _ can’t believe _ you didn’t tell us.”

“Yeah well I knew how you were going to react so…”

Annie pauses, and spins around before she hits the first step. “But you told  _ Dean _ so you had a free bed to fuck him in.”

“That’s not--”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter.”

Annie turns on her heel and storms off up the stairs shouting for Kenny to get his ass out of bed, and Beth sags against the kitchen counter.

...

It’s months later when he says it, hoarse and low as he’s lying on the bed in nothing but his boxer briefs and an intense stare.

“I want you to fuck me.”

And she laughs as she kicks her bra over to the corner of the room. “Yeah, that’s the idea.”

His eyes darken, and he tilts his head forward. “No, I want you to... fuck  _ me _ .”

The words hang in the air for a few seconds like the crest of a wave about to collapse. Beth lets out the breath she was holding, raises an eyebrow. “Is that… something you’re into?”

“Would I be askin’ if I weren’t into it?” He tips his head to the side and runs his tongue over his lips.

“I… um… I just… I don’t have anything for that.”

Rio tips his head back, eyes still on her just heavy lidded and intense. A shiver runs down her spine, and her heart picks up. “So I’ll order you somethin’ online.”

“Errr.. look I--”

“Hey, if you’re not into it that’s--”

“N-no, it’s not that it’s just I’ve never... I don’t know what to…” She trails off and shimmies out of her underwear before climbing onto the bed and straddling his legs just above his knees. She can feel her skin heating as her blush runs from her cheeks down towards her chest “Are you… um… or do you just...”

“You askin’ if I’m bi?”

She raises a hand to her head and scratches at her scalp. “Well… yeah.”

“The fashion choices and the huge-ass nose piercin’ not tip you off?”

“I just thought you were having like… a quarter life crisis or something.”

“ _ Quarter life crisis? _ ”

“ _ Third  _ life crisis?”

“Mama, I’m like two years younger than you.”

She clears her throat and drops her hand to his thigh, eyes trailing up and over his stomach, skittering over the three small pale marks spread across his chest, the firm defined pecs, and the smooth skin of his shoulders, until they finally meet his. “Oh, that is so not  _ fair _ .”

“What?” He screws his eyebrows up and jerks his head back in disbelief. You doin’ aight for yourself.” His eyes wash over her face, and down her chest to her hips and back up again. “I mean… yeah.” He lets out a long breath and shifts his hips. Beth’s eyes drop down to his dick, which twitches beneath the fabric of his underwear.

“You ever fuck a guy?” She lets a slow, lazy smile spread across her lips.

He squirms. “Yeah.”

“Giving or taking?” He raises an eyebrow, and she lets out a long moan. “Anyone I know?”

“You know that barista at the cafe where we used to meet? The one with the hash brown sandwiches?”

She leans over and runs her nose up his cheek. “The buff one with the cotton candy lips and the slutty V necks?”

He hums an agreement, and she tugs at his ear with her teeth. “Yeah he’s  _ very _ strong… and flexible.”

They don’t say much after that. Not until she’s grinding down on him, lip clamped tightly in her teeth, hand pressing down on his throat, and she brokenly grunts out “ _ I'll  _ order it.”

…

That’s when things get complicated. The day after the Amazon box arrives at the store, Rio disappears.

He shows up a week later with yellowing bruises under his eyes, a long gash on his forearm, and an evasive attitude. When she pushes him for answers, he pushes back. Not with words but with his body.

The desk is cold under her ass, and his skin is hot on hers, and it’s like he’s trying to tell her something with his mouth because she can’t breathe or think, and when it’s over he looks wrecked. He’s doing up his belt and buttoning his shirt, and his hands are shaking. HIs eyes are exhausted and strangely unguarded, and she notices for the first time that he’s lost weight. She can see ridges under his shirt as he leans down to pick up his phone and it tightens over his back. Ribs with less flesh and muscle stretching over them, and fabric that sits a little more loose than before.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

He looks up from his phone, and the shutters have closed. “It don’t concern you.”

She hops down from the desk and straightens her skirt. She can feel the dampness of her underwear, what’s left of his orgasm leaking out and sliding down her thighs. She squirms and tugs at a loose thread on one of her buttons. “I um… I was worried… about you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a sardonic smile. “Yeah well you don’t gotta worry about me no more.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m done. It’s yours.” He types something and tucks the phone into his back pocket.

“You’re done?”

“Yeah.” He turns to her, back ramrod straight, and hands back in that same clasped position.

She tries to find a response, but it’s like all the words have been sucked from her. In her mind she sees the barrier slam back down, like the roller door on that storage unit that featured so prominently in their relationship for all that time.

He pats her on the shoulder and turns to leave.

“You take care, yeah?”

And then he’s gone.

...

She considers tossing the box away without opening it. It sits under her desk for weeks before she takes it home, hiding it under her bed, right at the back by the headboard. She tries to call him, text him, but he doesn’t reply, so eventually she shows up at his bar five minutes after opening and demands to see him.

The bartender - Darren, she thinks his name is - gives her a pitying smile and tells her he’s out of town. She finishes her drink and asks for another.

He’s cute. Darren, that is. He’s got these soft looking lips that he seems to enjoy running his tongue over, and skin that looks smooth and soft enough to brush her cheek against without feeling the rasp of stubble.

So she flirts with him. She has one too many drinks, and while she’s waiting for the Lyft she tells him if he weren’t working she’d ask him for a ride.

He laughs and says he doesn’t think he’s her type, and she tells him she doesn’t have a type.

When she hops up off her stool she asks him when he gets off, and she sees his adam’s apple bob.

“Five.”

“Oh yeah? What days do you work?”

“I’m here until Saturday, but I work late then.”

She doesn’t respond, just picks up her purse and leaves.

She goes back to the bar on Friday, just after five, and watches him say goodbye to the night shift team. He sees her as he’s ducking out from behind the counter, and she tilts her head.

“Turns out I get off at five too,” she says.

He knows she’s using him, but he doesn’t seem to care. He goes down on her and she thinks about Rio’s cum leaking out of her that night at the store just as Darren’s tongue dips inside, and she bites down hard on a finger.

She goes back again and again, every time letting him do what he wants to her. And what he wants is usually sweet and gentle with soft touches and languid movement. She comes every time, but it’s not the same. But then that’s why she keeps doing it, right? Fucking a twenty-five year old bartender with a useless sociology degree and a burly, musular body in his tiny apartment is so far removed from anything else in her life that it feels like an escape.

She’s waiting for him to finish work when she sees Rio next. He sits down on the stool next to her and leans over the bar to grab a glass and a bottle of vodka.

“What’re you doing here, Elizabeth?”

She takes a sip of her drink and stares at him through the mirrored wall of bottles opposite them.

“None of your business.”

He pours some of the vodka into the glass and puts the bottle back on the other side of the counter. “Darren, huh?” He glances toward the back of the bar, eyes landing on the other man as he’s polishing glasses. “Didn’t pick him for your type.”

She snorts. “And what exactly is my  _ type _ ?”

Rio does that thing where his mouth turns down in a mocking frown for a brief second and raises his eyebrows. “Not him.”

She bristles. “What, because he’s black?”

He tips his head back and laughs. “Nah, mama. Because he’s twelve.”

“He’s twenty-five.”

“What’s that rule? Half your age plus seven?”

“Shut up.”

Rio gestures for Darren, and the other man slowly makes his way toward them, towel tossed over his shoulder. He stops in front of Rio and his eyes flit between the two of them.

There’s a loaded silence, and eventually Dareen breaks it by clearing his throat. “Look, I don’t want to get involved in whatever kinky shit you two have going on.”

Rio smiles that bright, wide smile with the perfect teeth and the crinkled eyes. “Nah, man I was just going to ask you a favour.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“You think you can do a few extra hours tonight? Abby called in sick and there’s that bachelorette party coming in at six.”

Darren glances at her, and she looks down at her hands clasped tight around her glass. 

“Sure,” he mutters, and Beth hears his shoes squeak on the polished floor as he walks away.

“You have no right to tell me who I’m allowed to sleep with.”

“Oh, you tellin’ me you ain’t fuckin’ Darren over there because he conveniently works here. At this  _ very specific _ bar?” He jerks his head to the left and she can feel his gaze boring into the side of her head.

She doesn’t reply, just sips at the bourbon and stares at herself in the mirror. She can see the ridges of the slutty bra she’d worn showing through her plain turquoise top. She’d changed up her makeup routine, and her skin looks dewy and young, blush high on her cheeks and highlighter giving her a glow in a few spots. Her lipstick has stained the edge of her glass, and she wipes at it with a napkin.

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t text me back.”

“You’re insane.”

She whips around and glares at him. “You  _ drive me  _ insane with your determination not to fucking  _ tell me _ anything. Do I not mean anything to you? Is that it? It’s just convenient for you to sleep with me when you’re lonely and then toss me aside when I’m not useful anymore?”

“You did it to me.”

“That was completely different.”

“Was it?”

She opens and closes her mouth a few times, lost for words. He grabs her by the wrist and drags her off the stool. “Yeah okay fine let’s talk.”

She lets him drag her to the car, occasionally feigning a stumble in an attempt to make him feel guilty, but he doesn’t take any notice and just yanks open the car door and pushes her towards it. She sits down with a huff and he walks around the car to the driver side. They’re a few streets away when he finally grunts out a sentence.

“Call your husband and tell him to take the kids to IHOP or somethin’.” He pauses. “And then to their grandmother’s.” She doesn’t move and he takes his eyes off the road for a moment. “ _ Call him. _ ”

She fumbles her phone out of her bag and pulls up Dean’s number. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Jesus… ugh.” He makes a frustrated noise and his hands tighten on the wheel. “Why do you always think I’m gonna kill you, huh? Is it some weird kink you have or are you just that fuckin’ narcississtic?”

“I don’t… know you just have this vibe that’s kind of... unpredictable.“

“Are you sayin’ I’m volatile?”

“Well you  _ are _ .”

He snorts, and makes a sharp right. “Yeah well cuts both ways don’t it.”

The ride’s silent after that, apart from her conversation with Dean about taking the kids out. He’s resistant, but his fear wins out and he agrees to keep them away for the night. When she hangs up the atmosphere is heavy and filled with a taut kind of hush. Like a rubber band that’s been pulled back to the point where it’s almost ready to snap.

And somehow the next twenty minutes pass in a blur of streets and silence, until she’s sitting at her kitchen island with a glass of wine in front of her and a frozen lasagne in the oven, Rio next to her a few feet away, and a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders.

His voice eventually cuts through, rough and low like he hasn’t used it for days. “This obsession you have with me killin’ you, you understand the irony, right?”

She turns to him, eyes wide and brows raised. “Huh?”

“I mean it’s ironic, ‘cuz I ain’t ever had any intention of killin’ you.”

She screws up her face further. “What?”

Rio tosses his head back and laughs mirthlessly. “He told me to kill you so many times, yeah? And every time I bought you a bit more time.”

“ _ Who _ told you to kill me?”

“The boss. He thinks you’re a liability.” Their eyes meet, and Beth gives him a pleading look. “Which you  _ are. _ ”

“You… you have a  _ boss? _ ”

“Mama, everyone in this game got a boss.”

“But… I don’t.” She frowns.

“Yeah and why d’ you think that is?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighs heavily and hangs his head in his hands.

“What? I don’t know. Don’t get pissed off with me because you’re being all cryptic and mysterious.” She takes a large gulp of the wine and winces as it goes down. “I’m in, I’m out, I’m in again… no Elizabeth don’t do it that way do it my way… no don’t do it my way that’s my turf…  _ what the fuck do you want from me _ .”

_ “Oh that’s rich, coming from someone who flip flops more than a goddamn fish out of water.” _

_ “Oh don’t you put this all on me, this is on you for keeping me in the dark since the day we met.” _

_ “You can’t handle the reality of what we’re doing.” _

_ “ _ We’re _ not doing anything, remember? You’re done.” _

Rio runs his hand over his face, and turns to her. HIs eyes are pained, and his lips are pulled back against his teeth. “Do you want to die? Is that it? Do you have a death wish? Is this all some kind of game to you?”

“No, I--”

“Because as long as there’s a you and me? That’s always gonna be hanging over our heads.”

“It’s not your head, it’s mine.”

He shakes his head. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

‘What?” She gets up and goes to the oven. The lasagne is burned on the top, and she pulls it out and dumps it on the cooktop. “Get what? That you’ll have to go out and find some other unappreciated bored housewife to torture?”

“ _ Jesus fucking Christ, Elizabeth _ when are you gonna get it into your thick head that I give a shit about you?” He gets up from the stool and tugs his jacket back on. She pokes at her dinner with a fork, and tries to scrape off some of the burnt cheese. Her saliva is thick in her throat, and she gulps.

“Don’t you dare.” She slams her hand down on the counter, and the fork clatters to the floor. She meets his gaze, her own blazing in anger. “Don’t you dare manipulate me by telling me I can  _ fix _ you. It’s a played out cliche and I’m not buying into it.”

“For… ugh.” He looks up at the ceiling, body tense and fidgety, and holds his hands to either side of his head.  _ “I fucking love you, you idiot.” _

She stares, and the words dangle between them until he spins on his heel and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

It’s not until she hears his car start and the tires spin as he drives off, that she moves. The lasagne is ruined. She dumps it in the trash and pours herself another glass of wine.

...

It’s weird, because even though she was sure the barrier had fallen between them months ago, and now it seemed more like a roller door that went up and down at Rio’s whim, she realises that it had never really changed. If she’s honest with herself she’s not sure either of their personalities lend themselves to it ever changing. It had always been hard glass with a tiny crack that was leaking water at a slow rate of drips, every time something from his side comes through, it evaporates before she can really do anything with it.

They hadn’t  _ really _ talked about what happened that night in his old apartment. She doubts they’ll ever talk about it apart from the half hearted explanation he’d given her all those months ago. At least they’ve talked about an emotion.

Not that Beth really wanted to talk about  _ that _ emotion, because it makes her feel all cagey and uncomfortable, like an orca in an amusement park, slowly going insane until she does something reactionary. Especially when contextualized alongside Rio. Especially when she has no idea if she feels the same way.

Or maybe she does, she’s not sure. Her and Dean… they never had the sexual chemistry, or the rage, or the weird pull that felt like a couple of magnets constantly spinning and occasionally forcing apart when the same poles were pointing toward one another.

So when he texts her out of the blue a week after the… fight, and offers to bring around a pizza and a bottle of bourbon, she says okay. Because she’s feeling like maybe today she’s a north and he’s a south.

They don’t talk about it. Ever. Which is typical. She  _ thinks _ about it every now and then, but as the hangouts become a habit, and they start bingeing TV shows together, it just... fades into the background. Dean moves out, he doesn’t approve of what he refers to as their  _ weird fucked up thing. _ The kids stay with him in his house week-on-week-off, and when Rio just starts showing up she’s grateful for the company during the off weeks.

One night he asks her if she’s still seeing Darren. She scoffs and doesn’t reply, but she trusts he knows she’s saying  _ no _ . She asks him if he’s allowed to hang out with her now that there’s no work stuff involved, and he glares in response.

They don’t flirt at first, just trying to get back to some level of comfort, but after a few months, and more than a few bottles, and a few seasons of a few TV shows, it starts. First with a brush of a finger, casual and unconscious. Next with a comment about her lips, and one on the tightness of his jeans. It never goes further than that though, until one evening when he kisses her on the cheek when he arrives and strolls into the living room without even hesitating.

She doesn’t know what to make of it, but after one too many lazy smiles, and languid stretches where his bare feet rub along her thighs like it's an invitation, she decides if she’s going to do it, it may as well be now.

She makes the excuse that she’s disappearing to the bathroom, but she goes for the head of the bed where the Amazon box is still hidden. It’s awkward to get to, and the dust makes her sneeze as she wriggles out from under the frame. She had opened it, but only as far as to slash the tape and check the order was correct.

She grabs the lube out of the box and shoves it in her bedside table, then the… equipment, which she tosses on the bed. It’s not huge, about the same size as Rio’s… well. The whole thing is black, which she picked to blend in with her underwear.

Which… she peeks under her shirt and looks at the blue bra she had worn that day. Her robe is hanging from the bedroom door handle, and she quickly strips off, tugs on a pair of stay up stockings, the black lingerie set she had hiding in the back of her underwear drawer, and straps on a suspender belt, leaving the clips dangling. She can feel the little pieces of plastic knocking against her butt as she walks to the door, and she presses the heel of her hand hard into her pubic bone in a useless attempt at relief.

She takes a moment to look at herself in the mirror before she pulls on the robe. The bra barely covers anything - it’s not like they make slutty lingerie for women with tits the size of hers - but the straps and the thin little collar make a thrill run up her spine. She looks good. Her makeup is still in place, and the red lipstick is easily touched up with a quick smear and roll of the lips.

There’s a pink egg vibrator as well, which she briefly considers putting in the drawer with the lube but instead snatches it up and awkwardly presses it into herself until it’s settled in a comfortable position. It has a remote, and she pulls the plastic tab from the back and presses the button.

“Unghhh.”

She tries to click it off but it starts cycling through different vibration settings, and it takes her a moment to figure out that she needs to press and hold the button to turn it off.

So she’s twitching a bit when she goes to pick up the strap on, and drops it with a thud.

“You okay?”

She lets out a sigh of relief when she realises he’s still in the living room.

“Yeah, fine, I just... couldn’t reach the toilet paper.” It’s probably the least sexy thing she can say at that moment, but the last thing she needs is him striding into her bedroom before she’s decided if she’s really going to do this.

She regrets not trying the thing on when it had arrived, mostly because it’s a bit awkward and requires some logical thought, which seems to have escaped her for a bit. That, combined with it sticking out at a right angle from her body, and she’s left wondering how she’s going to mask the fact that she has a gigantic dildo strapped to her under the thin satin of her robe.

In the end she just accepts it and hopes the floral pattern will mask the bulge. She pulls on a pair of black stilettos before blustering out of the room.

Rio’s sitting on the couch, slumped low with a glass of pinot in one hand and the remote in the other. He’s flicking through netflix, pausing on some intellectual drama she’d seen advertised in the new releases.

“Yo, you wanna watch a movie? Mick said…” He trails off when he looks over his shoulder. He’s doing that thing where he juts out his jaw and his lower lip goes all plump and inviting, and she shifts under his gaze. It takes a moment to find her voice, and the silence hangs in the air.

“Yeah, I don’t want to watch a movie.”

The way he looks at her as he pushes himself off the couch is almost predatory. He puts the glass down and lazily walks around the furniture until he’s standing a couple of feet away, then reaches out to tug at the sash holding her robe closed. She clamps her fingers around his wrist.

“Don’t… look just don’t laugh, okay?”

He quirks an eyebrow and gives her a wide toothy smile. “Oh yeah? You gotta french maid outfit on under that thing?”

She gives him an unimpressed look, and he undoes the tie. The satin slips against her skin, and then it’s all out there. The lingerie and the stockings and the… dick.

He takes a step back and she can’t read him. HIs jaw rocks to the side, mouth open. His eyes are tracking over every inch of her body, until they land on her crotch. He rubs his hand roughly over his face, and groans. “Fuckin’... jeez.”

She opens her mouth, probably to say something stupid she’s not sure, but before she can get the chance his lips are on hers, and he’s slammed her up against the nearest wall.

They’ve always had urgency whey they fuck, it’s always like it’s the last time, that everything could suddenly be ripped away, or one of them will hurt the other in a way that’s irreversible. This is different. This is like a promise. This is foreign and familiar all at once, and Beth’s heart aches at the thought.

So as he’s running his hands over her hips, and running his lips down her throat in a way that makes her shiver from the barest of touches, she pushes him away.

“I uh… I need you to go have a shower okay?” It breaks the spell, and she cringes.

“Oh, yeah... right.” He crosses the robe back over her body, and ties the sash back up. “You gonna join me?”

She shuffles against the wall, and gestures to her torso. “I’ll get all wet.”

He leans in and trails a hand up her thigh, until it’s between her legs and running a finger along the gusset of her underwear. “Too late.”

She shoves him off her and he smiles, one side of his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

She trails behind him as he heads for her ensuite, suddenly nervous about the logistics and the lube and she knows she’s not a prude when it comes to sex, but it’s a first for her. Apart from some porn and a bit of experimentation with her own vibrator it’s not exactly something she’s been able to study up on.

“Hey, did you get some lube?” His voice rings out over the sound of the shower.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Bring it to me, yeah?”

The shower shuts off, and she pokes her head into the bathroom. He’s towelling himself dry, all skin and muscle and ink, and she bites her tongue. He holds his hand out and opens and closes his fingers. She hands him the bottle and he flips the lid. His eyes meet hers.

“You know what I’m about t’do right?”

She nods. “Mmm hmm.”

He shrugs and squeezes some liquid onto his fingers, reaching behind himself. She steps into the bathroom, and lets the robe drop, before getting down on her knees and bringing her face level with his cock.

He tips her chin up with the bottle. “How long?”

She licks her lips, and blink slowly. “Since we talked about it.”

He groans and tips his head back. “Seriously? All that time.” Beth nods. She can see the muscles in his arm flexing as he works his fingers and the lube, and she runs a hand slowly up his thigh until she’s gripping his dick tight.

The noise he makes is one she hasn’t heard from him before. It’s like a whimper and a gasp all at once, and she runs her tongue up the underside until she’s flicking it gently against the tip.

“Fuck my face.”

‘Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

The bottle drops to the floor, he wipes his hand on a towel hanging on the rail, and suddenly his hands are buried in her hair and his dick is so far in her mouth that she coughs a little and gags. Her hand is resting against his thigh, ready to tap twice if it gets too much. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes and spit drips down her chin, and she clenches suddenly when he hits a spot at the back of her throat. She hits his leg hard and tears her head away.

Scrambling backwards, she clutches at the robe, searching until she finds the hard plastic of the remote. After a few moments of fumbling she gets it out of the pocket and thrusts it into his hand. He grins and presses the button.

“Oh… jesus.” Her legs wobble, and she shuffles back to him until her mouth is back around him and he’s echoing her words.

There’s saliva trailing down her chest by the time he drags her up by her hair, and pushes her back towards the bedroom. She stumbles on her heels, and he catches her and apologises.

“No, it’s okay… I like it.” She coughs and swipes at her boobs. Her back is to him, and she can feel his cock pressing against her butt. She wiggles, and he pushes her down on the bed face first.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me, and then I want to fuck you.”

“You don’t want me to--”

“No.”

She feels him tug the vibrator out of her, and it lands next to her head along with the remote. He disappears for a few moments, and when he returns the bottle of lube joins the other two items next to her. She feels her underwear and the thin harness pull against her skin, and then he’s inside her, no build up, just one hard movement, and she jerks.

_ ‘Shit.” _

“You all good?”

“Yeah… fuck.’

“You want me to--”

_ “Just fuck me.” _ Her words are sharp and almost angry, and he growls, actually  _ growls _ and then it’s nothing but skin slapping on skin, and one of the bed legs squeaking quietly beneath the sound of their heavy breaths and obscenities.

When she feels herself getting close, she kicks out with her leg. “Off.’ He steps back and she rolls over. “Get on the bed.”

He steps back and runs his hands down her thighs. He reaches up to grab the egg, slips it beneath her underwear. He barely has to put any pressure on it, she’s so wet her muscles swallow it up, and Rio licks his lips. “You’re a mess.”

She glares at him. “I  _ said _ get on the bed.”

She sees him visibly swallow, and he slowly raises up until he’s towering over her. ‘You’d tell me if this wasn’t okay, right?’

She rolls her eyes and pushes herself up until they’re chest to chest, and her fingers are trailing over his pecs. She twists a nipple, and he grunts. “Did you show up here with a strap on, or did I have it under my bed all this time?” He makes a face that says  _ touché.  _ “Then do what I say and get on the bed.”

Beth gets a glance at herself in the mirror as they circle around each other. Her lipstick is smeared, and her hair is that special kind of mussed that comes from what they’ve been doing. A thrill runs down her spine, and she sets her eyes back on his, before laying a hand flat on his sternum and pushing him down onto the mattress. He let her do it, and then she’s leaning over him, hair like a curtain around their faces, and the intimacy makes her heart leap.

She pushes the feeling aside for a moment, telling her brain it’s not the time for emotional epiphanies, and slides her lips down his torso until her lips are wrapped around his dick, and he’s moaning into the comforter. There’s a stripe of lipstick next to his belly button from the bathroom, and for some reason it makes her smile.

Five minutes later, when her hand is squeezing his balls and her tongue is circling his ass, he grabs her by the shoulder and pulls her off. She gets up on her knees, and he tugs her close enough to reach the toy between her legs, smearing it with lube and glaring at her.

“You’re bein’ mean.”

She grabs the bottle from him and covers her fingers. He twitches and lets out a protracted moan when she slips one into his ass, and Beth grins. “You relaxed?”

Rio reaches up and pushes the flimsy fabric covering her chest to the side, squeezing her tits as they’re freed. “Oh yeah, ‘m relaxed.” His smile is slow and hazy, and as Beth pushes the dildo into him, it turns shark-like and he lets go of her boob and picks up the remote. She’s not sure if he means for her to jerk so hard her hips slam against his, but that’s what happens. Her jaw drops and her lashes flutter closed for a moment, and when she opens them her vision is filled with him, head tossed to the side and eyes squeezed closed, mouth open in a silent gasp that’s definitely more pleasure than discomfort.

She takes it slow after that, building him up until the control he’s always so protective of is shattered, and he’s begging her to fuck him harder, to wrap her hand around his dick and jerk him off until he’s painted his chest. She indulges him.

The rhythm is difficult, the push and pull from the harness against her pubic bone throws her off, so she clicks through the vibrator’s settings until she settles on a pulse that, if she matches her thrusts, seems to be hitting the right spot with Rio because his breath is coming in gasping pants.

And just when she thinks he’s going to let go, Rio shoves her off him with his foot planted in her shoulder, springs up, grabs her around the waist, throws her down onto the bed, and impales himself. He’s holding her down, one of his huge hands on her chest, the other on her shoulder. “Oh my god.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah I’m…” Her eyes meet his and she can’t help it, her breath catches in her throat, and she spasms in something that’s not quite an orgasm. A warm rush covers her thighs, and she grabs his forearm, moving the hand on her shoulder to her neck, until she can feel his palm firm against her throat.

“I’m gonna come all over you, that okay?”

She nods. He looks so beautiful above her, expression wrecked and open, body glowing with a light sheen of sweat, and suddenly she understands why he comes so quickly when she’s riding him, because it sneaks up on her. His eyes are closed tightly, and his cum hits her chin as he lets himself go, and suddenly she’s clenching hard around the vibrator before she’s ready, her legs tightening and feet pointing until she can feel her toes dig into the bed.

He flops down next to her, panting hard, and both of them stare at the ceiling for a few moments.

She screws up her face and feels between her legs, yanking out the still vibrating egg and throwing it towards the bathroom door.

“I think I squirted.”

“That’s hot.”

Her laugh turns into a short cough, and she sucks in a breath. “You think so?”

She can feel his head nodding next to hers. “Ohhh yeah.” She tips her head in his direction, and he’s staring. “I miss you.”

“So come work with me again, nobody needs to know.” Beth runs a finger over his chin, until her nail is scraping down his throat and over his adam’s apple.

His eyes flutter closed for a moment and he rolls his lips together. “He’ll find out.”

“You know, we could just kill him.” She tips his chin up, and Rio locks eyes with her.

“It ain’t that simple.”

Warmth is radiating from him. She’s floating on an ocean of affection from the endorphin rush, and it feels  _ nice _ . Maybe feelings are something that just  _ are _ and she needs to stop therapizing herself.

She rolls over fully and props herself up on her elbow, head resting in her hand, and smiles. 

“I know a guy.”

_ End. _

  
  



End file.
